


Adrenaline

by makesometime



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Mostly the verbal kind these two are mouthy when they're turned on, Of both the physical and verbal kind, Post-Game(s), Sparring, Vague spoilers up to the end of the family story track
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: With an angry growl stifled only by the determined gritting of her teeth, Kassandra stalks the remaining  distance towards their home, assuming people will get out of her way once they take one look at her face. If Brasidas is so intent on making her wait, she will simply take matters into her own hands.





	Adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

> It was only a matter of time before I made these two get down and dirty. This took me a few days to get right, so I hope everyone enjoys it. (See if you can spot where I ran out of steam tonight and posted so it would be off my damn plate already.)

It must be clear on her face as she walks from the gymnasium, Brasidas trailing a few stops behind her. Her body feels hot, tight with unspent adrenaline, the sun drying sweat on her skin and adding to her discomfort.

Brasidas stops more than once to hold a conversation, the retired General having one of the most respected opinions in all of Sparta. Ephors, soldiers. At one point, even several young children. Kassandra cannot hold them accountable for her growing irritation.

Brasidas however…

He knows how she gets after they spar. All too well, and he often wears reminders of it on his skin for days afterwards. He also knows how riled it makes her to be stuck here, in the middle of the city, without an outlet for the energy pulsing in her veins.

He likes to make her wait. 

She likes to fantasise about ending him here in the street.

(It is a fair and measured response, in her estimation.)

Kassandra twitches to a stop when he calls her name, toe of her sandal stubbing into the dirt. Turning on her heel, she finds Brasidas standing with King Archidamos, hands clasped respectfully behind his back and smirk just about tugging at his lips. 

She cannot deny the King, even one whom she helped save from the Cult’s grasp. And her lover knows it. _Alkibiades never made me wait_ she thinks, her mental words little daggers that do nothing to the man who cannot hear them. (It is a lie, regardless, the statesman made her both wait _and_ earn their trysts more often than not.)

The conversation that follows is tersely polite on all sides. Brasidas has no deep desire to talk to the man, he simply wishes to prolong her misery. Kassandra realises she is being brisk to the point of rudeness only when Archidamos smiles at her in bemusement, Brasidas hiding a laugh in a poorly-feigned cough behind his fist. 

Eventually, satisfied, the King continues on his way. Without speaking, Kassandra resumes her steady pace home. 

Brasidas remains several steps behind her... and is interrupted twice more before she gives up on him entirely. 

With an angry growl stifled only by the determined gritting of her teeth, Kassandra stalks the remaining distance towards their home, assuming people will get out of her way once they take one look at her face. If Brasidas is so intent on making her wait, she will simply take matters into her own hands. 

The door squeaks angrily at the force of her entrance, colliding with the still brightly painted wall. This house was intended to be their ‘retirement’ project. It is only too apparent now how poorly named it is, considering how little time they spend here. It used to sooth her to walk into their home, to know this space was _hers_. 

Now its familiarity just makes her angry. 

She scowls at the smudged handprint on the wall that Brasidas demanded she not paint over. It serves only as a reminder of how thoroughly he can distract her, how weak she is to his well-disguised mischief. 

( _They had got paint **everywhere** in their celebratory lovemaking, enough that they were finding it for hours afterwards, her hair flecked with colour and his back dotted with little white fingertips._) 

It is a good memory.

Kassandra still growls her annoyance in a string of curses, each one more irritated than the last. 

She tugs off and tosses aside the soft leather armor she wears to train, lovingly crafted to her precise measurements as a gift from Brasidas upon her safe return to him. (For a second, it aches to see it bounce off of the floor, but then she remembers her anger, and its target.) 

Moving through the house, she leaves a trail of clothing for her lover to find. A sandal here, a bracer there, the leather from her hair. She walks briskly towards their bedroom, intent now on solving her own problem, the ache between her legs growing harder to ignore. 

Kassandra hears her name called as she steps across the threshold of their room, Brasidas clearly and unrepentantly in good humour. With a sigh, she stops just short of collapsing down on the bed. 

She had _so_ wanted for him to find her with her hand busy at her core, perhaps reaching for their _olisbos_ … 

The look on his face as he finds her standing naked in the middle of the room is good enough for now. 

She grumbles, advancing on him as heat and desire floods her body once again. The same is reflected in his gaze, bright brown eyes turning hungry at the speed with which she gets to him, shoving until his back collides with the wall. The quiet _oof_ of his exhale melts into a moan when Kassandra sucks at the edges of the large scar on his shoulder. 

“I hate to wait.” She mutters, nipping up the length of his throat. 

Brasidas smiles, turning his head to steal a kiss. “I know.”

“You do this every time.” She huffs, tugging at the belt around his waist, frustration making her fingers less dextrous. 

He laughs, palming her backside and making no moves to assist her. “Of course I do.”

Her growl is stifled by another kiss, hard and bruising, her teeth catching his lower lip and biting hard enough to draw a needful sound from deep in his chest. 

“But this is the result!” He breathes when she pulls back, grinding his hips into her belly. “Can you blame me?” 

It would be a lie to claim that she doesn't love this back and forth, that it doesn't make her feel giddy and wild to have him spar with her verbally as well as physically. She feels it in the nervous energy that spurs on her fingers, stripping Brasidas of his clothing piece by piece. The anticipation only grows when they snipe and sass one another. 

He is every inch the Spartan ideal as the last barrier between them drops to the floor. She wants to admire him, to catalogue his scars, to kiss the budding bruises from her earlier swordplay. 

Brasidas has no patience for this. She yelps happily when he pulls her in close, one hand spanning her lower back and holding her firm, the other tangling in the unbound mass of her hair. Kassandra smirks into his kiss, winding her arms around his neck, feeling the warm stickiness of his sweat-coated skin and wanting only more of it. 

Kassandra cedes control to him only rarely. When Brasidas flips them so that her back is to the wall, she fights the urge to flip them right back again. She sees his amusement clear on his face as he stares at her, drinking in the sight of her here, with him, _for_ him. 

“You are more beautiful every day I know you.”

And just like that she is disarmed, heart fluttering nervously in her chest. Brasidas finds such honesty far easier to put voice to, and for the with him the compliments feel real for the first time. There's nothing to be gained for him in comparing her to one of the Pantheon. Her beauty is her own. 

“And you are further away from me than I would appreciate, Brasidas.”

He grins, reaching out to take her hand and pull her towards the bed. She watches his muscles play as he moves, his cock swaying eagerly, and wants every part of him to be hers. 

Brasidas lays on his back, pillowing one arm behind his head and reaching out to her with the other. She could watch him like this for days. Maybe instruct him to touch himself for her. The earlier urgency has burned off, leaving her only hungry and aroused, wanting to take and be taken. 

She crawls up his body with a smile that makes his breath catch, trapping his arousal between them. She can feel it dampening the skin of her belly as she kisses him, lazy. Normally she would want nothing more than to sink down on him, ride him until they are both shivering with completion. 

But not today. 

Brasidas breathes out a tender laugh as she hooks her leg around his and rolls, pulling him to rest atop her. She hitches her thighs higher against his hips, sighing at the feel of him pressed along the full length of her core. She is slick with need, has been for some time, and her lover groans grateful surprise into her skin as he suckles at her breasts.

“You are stunning.”

Kassandra feels a flood of self consciousness as smiles, rolling her hips into him, cupping his cheek and gently drawing him up to her lips. “Less talk, Brasidas.”

One of his hands on her thigh, he takes himself in hand and guides his cock into her heat, exhaling sharply into their kiss. She loves the initial stretch more than she can put into words, the way her body keenly accepts him as another part of herself. Her other half. It makes her head spin. 

Brasidas gives her time to adjust, reveling in the simple feeling of being inside her. He moves slowly, at first, guiding them both. His thrusts grow harder as she sighs his name, her nails biting into the back of his head, the base of his spine.

The power coiled in their bodies, lingering after effects of their sparring, bleeds out into rough, frantic fucking that sends rampant shivers up and down Kassandra's spine. She always knew they would move well together. Ever since that first day in the warehouse, the synchronicity of their fighting despite never having met before.

Gods but she imagine it would be quite _this good_. Aphrodite truly smiles upon their union. 

Kassandra chews on her lip when Brasidas breaks their kiss, his face tucking into the curve of her shoulder. She always knows he’s close when he bites at her skin, bruising her to match the scar he carries. Beneath her armor she wears his mark for days afterwards, feeling it tug and pinch and reminding her of moments like these.

Brasidas thrusts, hard, until he is seated as deep as she can take him. His hand slides from her waist to press two fingers to her clitoris and she can feel his smirk when she jerks and clutches at him, pressing into and shrinking away from the stimulation all at once. 

It is too much, and not enough. The thick press of him inside her sets her right on the edge, gasping and whining in a way that should embarrass her. He holds her there, right on the cusp, as long as he can.

“ _Brasidas_ …” She keens, locking her ankles at the small of his back, scraping her nails across the strong planes of his muscles.

The bastard hums, kissing just beneath her ear. “Yes, Kassandra?”

His voice has always made her name sound illicit and dangerous, a curious power than she isn’t willing to admit he holds. Only now, it makes her curse.

“I’m not begging.”

He tuts, catching the lobe of her ear between his teeth. “A shame…”

He acts as if he’d ever leave her, leave _them_ without satisfaction. Kassandra digs her heel into his ass, regretting the choice to give him this power over her, until he grinds his hips hard into her, trapping his fingers against her nerves. Two, three more thrusts and she reaches her peak, tumbling over and stifling her cries in his shoulder as he jerks, spilling deep inside her.

It takes a remarkable time for lights to stop dancing behind her eyelids, her body to cease its shivering every time Brasidas inhales too sharply. He makes moves to shift off of her but she stops him. Unwilling now to let him go far from her.

She drops her legs from his hips, tangling them with his as Brasidas props himself up on his forearms. He watches her curiously, stroking a strand of hair off of her damp forehead.

“What is on your mind, Spartan?”

He smiles, thumb smoothing over her cheekbone. “Many things.”

Kassandra shifts, stroking her fingertips over the marks she left upon his back. “They are good, I hope?”

Dropping his forehead to hers, Brasidas closes his eyes in unconcealed satisfaction. “Every one of them.”


End file.
